


I Need The Sea Because It Teaches Me

by LoneChestnutTree



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Abundant sea references, Dreams, Fluff, Hint of Angst, M/M, Pablo Neruda - Freeform, Symbolisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoneChestnutTree/pseuds/LoneChestnutTree
Summary: Cosmic Dreams—a type of dream that taps into one’s consciousness, cosmos that points to the future.Years of denying himself, of distancing himself as far as possible.All finally over after a certain dream pushes Chris into the light as he tries to navigate through his day wrestling a new, unexplored, confusion.





	I Need The Sea Because It Teaches Me

 

  
_"I need the sea because it teaches me,_  
_I don't know if I learn music or awareness,_  
_If it's a single wave or its vast existence."_

_\- Pablo Neruda, on the Blue Shore of Silence._

_Like the sea, in you everything sank._  
_A voice whispers._

_The wall, the floors and ceilings changed into one solid color, azure blue. Until that too faded and all that was left was a bright light that shot through his eyelids and slowly dimmed. He can make out a white arch that overlooked the sky, and on the other side of it were railings, he was in a balcony somewhere._

_"Hey," a voice greets him, a different one from before; something about it seemed far-away, like an echo in the back of his mind, he feels detached from his body, a spectator looking in._

_"Hey," it says again, "Have you seen the sea?" it asks, voice relaxed. A sense of calm clouds over him as he follows a movement on the edge of his vision, towards a man sitting in the corner._

_"I said," The man slowly turned toward him, "Have you seen the sea?" the man's face was a mix of pixels and blur until he focused hard enough to make out the familiar but still hazy contours of his face._

_It was Leon. (Or at least it felt like him.)_

_His smile was soft, peaceful even, as he seemed to regard Chris with infinite patience, "Not a lot of people have really seen the sea, y'know." Leon turned back toward his easel._

_(It wasn't there just a few seconds ago.)_

_"Here, look," Leon picked up a brush and dipped it in an empty pallet, Chris was about to tell him that until he opened his mouth and suddenly forgot how to process his thoughts verbally, the effort it took to do so felt like he was swimming through pounds and pounds of cotton. Leon, seemingly oblivious of Chris' crisis, brushed a broad stroke of radiant blue across his empty canvas. To his surprise, the paint began moving, swaying back and forth on the canvas lazily._

_'Beautiful' Chris thinks, but doesn't say._  
_"It really is something else, isn't it?" Leon replied._

_He did not see it happen but now Leon was standing in front of him, handing him his canvas, "You need it." he says calmly, eerily so. Chris' languid hands take it from him, feeling so out of his body._

_But then, another shot of light floods his eyelids._

  
_***_

The beep of his alarm. A single horn from a car outside, the steady hum of an air conditioner, creaking wood.

And then he wakes up, as the abstract feeling of clarity and calmness slowly faded and the first thing he does is grasp his hands on... _something_.

But then, suddenly, a phrase demanded his attention. A phrase he managed to pull upward like a drowning man,

_"In you everything sank."_

He doesn't know what it means, but he can feel that it's important somehow.

He rolls to his back and throws the blanket off his body; the sun was shining now, making the sunlight enter the blinds of his windows in a wavy, diagonal, pattern. The phone's alarm rings again, a constant beep without intervals. Chris sighs and reaches over to stop it.

Belatedly, he realized, that even though it was a day-off for him, he still has an impromptu meeting to attend to, grunting to himself, he pushes off the bed and unto his feet. Like any other day, his apartment was devoid of excitement, beige carpets, a hand-me-down couch, and an antique ('tattered,' Claire would correct.) lamp tucked on the corner next to a television. The air felt stuffy on his skin, also smelling of dust and that citronella candle Sheva sent him a month ago.

Yawning, he turns left toward his bathroom, before habitually cracking his neck and joints before stepping inside the shower and letting the warm water wash over him.

He closes his eyes, as water trickled over his hair and ran down his face in a constant stream, he sighed, craning his neck forward for the water to catch his back. His mind drifts back toward the dream, only fragments of it seemed to feel right for him.

He doesn't remember exactly but--someone was in that dream. Someone familiar to him, a friend?  
That seems right.

He rinsed out the suds and stepped out of the shower before drying himself off, the fluffy towel felt soft on his skin, he runs it through his hair several times before looking down.

 _Blue--_  
_Light blue._

That also seems right.

  
***

The meeting room where they held every debriefing in the past was surprisingly quiet. The choppy—almost weak voices on the other side tells him there was some sort of tension even before he cracks the door open.  
He steps inside, as a subtle hush fell and all eyes turned toward him, "Captain," his team nodded, as Chris nodded back.

As he walked toward his chair, one of his superiors regarded him up and down before saying, "Nice of you to join us, Captain." Chris almost looked down toward his feet before realizing he was just actually wearing a simple pair of jeans and a faded, gray, long-sleeved shirt.

"Was supposed to be a day-off for me, Chief, thought I should at least dress the part." Chris said with confidence, smoothing out his sleeves exaggeratedly.

Under the sound of people whispering, a keyboard clicking continuously, he almost missed it. But to his left, across the table--across the room, came a snort.

Against the plain, crème and mocha trimmed edge of the walls, he looked vivid, not hazy, not anymore.

"Boss," Leon nodded, a slight mock in his voice, and if Chris momentarily froze, he doesn't show it as he sat on a chair across from him. With that, the meeting commenced, with Chris sneaking glances toward his friend as he wrestled the feeling of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

  
***

The meeting ends with that feeling crawling from his stomach toward the length of his shoulders, he looks down on his notes and realizes that he has only written down nothing but the words, 'Joint' and 'New'

"Hey," someone says behind him. He tenses. That word felt awfully familiar.  
"You okay?" Leon asked, "You look like you've just seen a ghost." The agent crossed his arms and leaned back on the wide, mahogany, table. Chris looks up, only realizing that the last of the people besides him and Leon were filing out of the meeting room.

"I didn't have a full night's sleep, is all." he shrugged, Leon seemed unconvinced, but the agent leaned back further on the table and approached a different topic instead, "Don't you think it's crazy that after all these years, they just decided to go through with a joint organization just because of that unplanned New York schtick?" Leon huffed a laugh, but Chris didn't. He forgot about that. He opened that project to his and Leon's superiors a few months ago, and it was only just approved today, in a meeting he spent half of with his thoughts miles away. Shit.

He felt fresh shame coil down his core.  
Months of pursuing and writing cases for a joint organization, disregard all because he felt weird about a stupid dream.

"We might have to schedule a second meeting," he gathered his papers, preparing for an abrupt escape, Leon nods in agreement, but then asks something, "Want to grab a quick lunch?"  
A quick lunch, like every other lunch they had in the past, it should be nothing, surely.

He nodded, trying his best to ignore an unwelcomed feeling of nervousness that threatened to break out from his chest, Leon smiles at him for the last time before pushing himself off the table, waiting for Chris to join him before turning toward the door and leading the way. They walk in the hallway they have walked through shoulder-to-shoulder numerous times before when Leon visits, what was the difference between this one, and the other ones before? Chris doesn't even dare ask himself that question.

Afraid he might have an answer on-hand.

They reach the exit, the sun seemingly glared hard today, and to that, he was grateful. It casted the people's shadows on the sidewalk with an uneven--almost loopy form. Leon huffed, "God, it's hot today." the agent touched his neck, wiping away the dripping sweat from the top of his neck toward the beginning of his chest. Chris grits his teeth and looks away. _It really is blazing today_.

Chris runs a hand through his hair, “Little Ty's?" he asks, hopeful.  
Fast food--he can do fast food. The stuffy atmosphere, the annoyingly good (?) food, and it's safe. It's familiar.  
"You have to broaden your taste pallet a bit, man." The agent said, swatting his face from the assault of a passing stranger's cigarette smoke, "Besides, I already have a place planned. The office has been buzzing about it since god knows when.” The agent tilts his head at him, a sign that he should follow. His mind, seemingly in autopilot mode today, catches up to what Leon just said, making him follow along blindly. They walk further to the side of the building, to the organization’s parking lot that managed to look more like a horror movie set than an actual parking lot. The sight of Leon’s car greets them, a good moment to bring up the fact that he commuted to his office today, “I—“ Chris was about to open, but gets cut off by the sound of Leon opening the passenger door, “I’ve figured, since your disgustingly yellow car is not here to disrupt the office’s color scheme today.” Leon smirked at him, before gesturing for Chris to climb in, “Mustard.” Chris corrected, even though he knows it’ll just pass Leon’s stubborn ears, “Mustard, right. Noted.” Leon hid a smile, opening his side of the car and settling in.

The engine roars and they peel away from the parking lot. The yellow morning softened and changed, creeping towards a tangerine afternoon.

  
***

The warm day maintained itself, almost like it never rained for three days straight. Summer, with the sound of sizzling raindrops on hot concrete after months without raining, fully back and settled with a gentle breeze and a warm, orange, tint. Chris stretches his legs in the car, distracted by the change of scenery, the once industrialized part of town was now left behind and replaced by the sight of colorful fiesta banners, small but humbly decorated homes, and children running on the streets. It is indeed a place he has never heard of, until now.

He rolls down the window, ignoring the raise of an eyebrow Leon sends his way; Chris closes his eyes, and lets the sunlight through the trees caress him like a benediction.

***

  
They pull over to a pebbled space without a legitimate parking spot, almost like anywhere in the area was free, and maybe it was. They were the only car in sight aside from a brown pick-up truck that sat on the edge where the restaurant and the forest met. He looks up, _‘En Alta Mar’_ it read in cursive blue and white letters below a huge porthole window, “This the place?” he asks, immediately knowing the answer to his own question, “Sure is. My co-workers and even the president’s wife kept raving about this place, I hope it was worth the 40 minute drive.” Even if the food tasted horrendous, the vibe that the place sends off was slowly turning to be worth every minute, “I guess we better find out then.” Chris says, as Leon touches his shoulder before walking past him and toward the meek building’s entrance, there, a woman greets them, “Welcome,” she says, a distinct accent to her voice, “Table for two?” her accent stretching out the ‘e’ and ‘o.’ Leon nods, “I understand that this place has a second deck? Can we be seated there?” The woman wipes her hands on her long, flowy skirt and ushers them inside, “Of course.”

A lowered, uneven, ceiling to which they had to duck under, through a small passageway filled with light smelling jasmine flowers, they finally reach the main seating room.

And—and it makes Chris wonder if they were still in the same area they were this morning, or if by walking through that hallway somehow dropped them to a different part of the world. The walls were a delicate color of caramel, lined with indigo tiles with little boats on them. A wind chime, but with colorful shards of glass. Chairs and tables all in the bleached color of white spruce wood. The table mantle was nothing but the softest-looking cloth of stark white with swirly, almost watercolor-like stitches of tiny ocean tides.

He did not have enough time to take it all in before they get led through a steep staircase that looked like pure marble, uncharacteristically brown and red, like cinnamon and saffron.

He only gets a heartbeat and a half to himself to gather his thoughts before Leon swings an arm around his shoulder and leans his head close to his, “This place looks amazing,” He whispers, like the statement would be proven false if he utters it out loud, “Yeah.” Chris only manages to let out, unable to disregard the sudden croak of his voice, Leon pulls away and looks at him, eyes narrow, the most eye contact they had so far today.

“You good?” The blonde asks,  
“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Chris replied with a shrug of his shoulder.

Leon tilts his head at him before nodding, seemingly satisfied with that answer.  
“Let’s pick a table then.”

The near the stair-well table was too bland.  
The far-corner table was too shadowed.  
The lone table to the left? Well, the painting above it makes Chris uncomfortable. Too much circles and—nude mermaids.

But then, the woman opens the wide, double doors that led directly to the balcony, and Chris has never felt so sure that the table that sat on the middle of the room that was practically bathing in sunlight was the best choice there is.

He walks over to it, slow and unhurried, almost like he was sleepwalking, he runs a fingertip on the mantle, “This.” He says, feather light. He sits down and doesn’t wait for Leon who was looking at him warily, arms crossed, “Great.” The man said, maintaining eye contact with him as he sat opposite to the quiet man.

Almost like a slot clicking into place, the view was perfect.  
Exactly like—the dream, Leon, his friend, contoured by sunlight. Everything was pale and patient and quiet. Chris lets out a deep breath, and picks out the things he was going to say before the woman from before sets down two menu cards (An impression of postcards, A lighthouse on the back that stood tall amongst a roaring ocean, signed with the restaurant’s name.) in front of them, his fingers slips on the laminated card before picking it up clumsily. He scans the dishes, peeking above to look at Leon from time to time, after a few good seconds, he decides on what he wants, but he still acted like he was engrossed in the menu, stalling.

The moment Leon handed the woman his card, Chris hands his as well, watching as the other man unfolds a napkin from the table to his lap, and Chris does the same too, mirroring him.

The woman leaves their table with a warm smile, walking toward the stairs and back down.

“Chris…” Leon began, saving Chris yet again for what looks to be an embarrassing conversation, “Did you have other plans today?” Leon asked, hands planted on the table, not minding the oceanic embroidery, “Not really.” Chris tells the truth, “Because, well, for starters you’ve been awfully quiet, and I thought I forced you into having lunch with me.” Leon seeks his downturned face with a concerned gaze, “There’s this thing that’s been bothering me all day.” The agent leaned back on his chair, hair glowing with the sun’s blessed rays, “Anything serious? Anything I should be concerned about?” No and….Yes.

“I wished it was serious, considering it demanded this much of my attention,” Chris huffed self-deprecatingly, “And as for being concerned, I think yes, but I think unsettled was more like it.”  
“Okay.” Leon cuts in, sure and crisp, “Give it your best shot, Redfield. Try me.”

He was going to do it, more for his conscience than his embarrassment.

“I had a dream.” Leon raised an eyebrow, but signaled for him to go on, “I don’t remember everything but—the color blue, the sea, something about needing something, and you.” Chris said in one long breath, “In the dream, you handed me a painting you did, it was of the sea. And you told me that I needed it, somehow. “Chris shook his head, “What else happened?” As much as Chris wanted to say fire-breathing, machine gun wielding, dragons, that was all it.  
“That’s all, I think. “

“So, what’s the problem then? I thought you were going to say along the lines of, embarrassing, steamy dreams about your friend, to which I have to say was kind of disappointing.” Leon touched his chest dramatically, smirking at him, “I don’t know, I feel weird, it’s like I’m missing something. Like there’s something hidden I need to be aware of.” Leon’s eyebrows jumps a bit, and if Chris wasn’t practically staring at him, he might have missed it, “I—well, if you believe in dream interpretations, I suggest you might want to search about it. Odds are it’s about anxiety and stress about the joint organization, and me being your co-founder, your subconscious probably materialized me in it.”

Chris was almost comforted, except the placement was right but, maybe the emotions weren’t. In the dream, he wasn’t feeling nervous, he felt clear, aware of everything. Hell, the only time he felt anxiety and nervousness was in real life, in the presence of the person he dreamt of. So, that might not be it.

He was about to open his mouth for a rebuttal, but then their food, A Churrasco sandwich, and Leon’s Sopa Patagonica, looking so mouthwatering and almost immaculate gets set down in front of them.

And Chris thinks this can wait, at least until after they eat.

***

Leon sets his spoon down with a clatter and a laugh, “I cannot believe I’ve been friends with someone that genuinely thinks that a deck is better than a gazebo,”  
They started out talking about the project, the meeting, and the place where they’ll settle their HQ when everything finishes processing, but somehow, along the way, it turns into an argument about which was superior: Decks VS Gazebos.

Chris smiles at him before swallowing, “I think I prefer decks because my childhood home used to have one, complete with swings and stuff, very old fashioned. “ Leon nodded, suddenly deep in thought. Chris finishes his plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin, he picks up a drinking goblet that is in the shade of hunter green, he takes a sip before holding it up against the light as if it were an egg. Leon clutches his on the stem and swirls it, as if it was the finest wine around, “About earlier,” The blonde said swiftly.  
Chris, sensing the change in topic, sets down the goblet and leans forward, listening.  
The blonde man takes a small sip and sets his water down, directly on the spot where a ray of light was on, making it pass through the glass and flood unto the table, marine blue.

“It’s still bothering you, isn’t it?” The agent gave an almost apologetic smile.  
Leon reached out, near towards Chris’ forearm before faltering and tucking his arms inside his armpits instead, a gesture Chris watched in confusion and anticipation, “It’s best not to dwell into it too much, dreams are often symbolic, but it doesn’t mean you should take everything into consideration.” He paused, thinking, a moment’s hesitation before picking at a stray thread that dangled on the edge of his napkin, “Only the important ones.”  
That unsolicited piece of advice did nothing but make Chris even more confused, how can he only focus on the important parts of that dream when every moment he remembers felt very significant, “I don’t follow,” he says instead, wanting for Leon to explain it further. He reads Chris’ expression for a beat before exhaling, “What I mean is, you shouldn’t base your life on it, some things may make sense, some may not but in the end--” A flash of vulnerability, something he has seen on Leon’s face only a couple of times, “You decide what you want.” He finished, voice airy. It didn’t even occurred to him that their faces were closer now than it was a moment ago, like they were sharing a secret that the world has no business meddling with.

Stagnant air. Anticipation. His heart thundering in his ribcage. His attention, like a net cast towards the subtle curve of Leon’s lips. Chris, he is learning something. Processing it ten-folds, like all those times in the past where he needed a lightning-quick decision.

This close, he can see the cerulean of Leon’s eyes, like rippling waves with seafoam. And Chris, with everything he carefully filed away in the back of his mind, sinks. They both lower their heads as one, in-sync, before meeting in the middle and stopping, mouths half-open, each other’s breaths mingling on their lips, a twisted impression on what they should do next.  
One of their goblets topples to the side, and it rings in Chris’ ears like a reminder. He feels magnetized somehow, but he has to retract, Leon deserves more than an unspoken revelation.  
And something probably showed in Chris’ face because the man slowly pulls away too, maintaining eye-contact with him as he did, “I—we should get going.” Leon says through his teeth, like the words were practically forced out of him, and maybe they were.

They stare at each other uneasily as neither one tries to move to stand up, but after a few heavy seconds, the chair opposite to Chris creaks against the hardwood floor. Leon abruptly stood, “Bathroom.” He mumbled, as the other man nods mostly to himself. Behind him were sure, even, footsteps as Leon descended down the stairs. He releases a pained groan, as if he was gut-punched. The length it takes to re-collect and sort himself will need more time than just a mere few minutes, he lets out a deep breath before pushing himself off the table and towards a wall chuck full of nautical knick-knacks.

An old topography map that took up the entire middle wall, framed boat-sails, a fishbowl full of various seashells of all colors and sizes, and an exquisite looking ship-in-bottle that was hanging on the ceiling. Important artifacts, actual decorations. Unlike the ones on Chris’ apartment, generic paintings on the walls that were there when he moved in. He took it all in, from the laminated postcards to a wooden plank that probably once completed a boat, and he absorbs it all and he lets them teach him something.

“You ready to go?” came Leon’s voice from behind, “Yeah,” Chris smiled, refreshed, “We still have to pay though, so, let me get this one.” He fished out his wallet before Leon touched his wrist almost coaxingly, “That’s not necessary, I’ve already paid when I came up here.” The man looked eerily expressionless, a look he reserved only in missions. An eyebrow hikes up Chris’ face, fully aware that they have always shared the bill in the past, “The least I could do.” Another monotonous expression, “For what?” Chris asks, testing. A shadow of a glare crosses Leon’s face, “For…” he stalled, as the brunette held his breath, “For dragging you out here when you should’ve been using the rest of your day-off.” Deflection, Chris knew that was coming so he let it slide, for now, “Okay, but I pick up the bill next time.” He smiled again, unsure where to put his hands now that doing so might make the other man flinch. The agent grunts, before turning around and walking off, that much confident that Chris will follow him without a word. He was right.

***

Chris knew that the worst part was coming, the car-ride. He suddenly wished he brought his stupidly yellow car with him (Chris’ lips quirk, remembering) to avoid this part. Because what do you say to your longtime friend after an almost kiss? How can you act all chummy again when you both know how it feels like to have each other’s breath feathering your waiting lips?  
They both get inside the car and Leon wastes no time in getting them out of there.

The warm sky from this morning was turning cooler, darker, that much more awkward as they leave this place behind to go back to skyscrapers and denial.

The painful car ride finally ends as Leon pulls over on the curb of Chris’ apartment like many times before, “So…” Chris began, he really was doing this now. He really was going to start this, inside Leon’s car as the sun prepared to sink in front of them. But something manages to halt him, the look on Leon’s face, pained, ashamed, nearly miserable, so he shuts his mouth and drops the thought, “See you next time?” he smiled comfortingly as Leon only nods, solemn.

Chris moved to open the door, stepping outside on the cold, thankfully desolate sidewalk, but before he could close the door behind him, Leon strikes a palm out and stops it from fully closing, “Chris!” his voice was urgent, enough for Chris to duck back and look at him alarmingly, “I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. It was sudden and I shouldn’t have took it for myself.” Chris’ mouth opens once, but no words managed to escape. Leon looks at him for the last time before he closes the door, hazarding as he drove back toward where they came from.

***

His apartment was somehow emptier now than when he left it this morning. But at the same time, how did an empty room with only one occupying person felt so stuffy like the way it did now?

The difference; he was a different person this morning.

He opens the TV only for the noise as he ignores the overwhelming overload from today.

Abruptly, he decides that he suddenly needed a drink. He walks over to the fridge and he tries not to remember the times Leon spent in this apartment, just hanging out. He pops a beer can open, walking over to the couch and sitting down. A reporter in the news was talking about the blackmarket, something about an arms deal gone awry, flashing pictures of swat cars, police lines, and houses. Chris takes his first sip, he knows he should be paying attention because chances are, they might be involved with this case somehow, because rumor has it that there are still traces of The G-Virus that was, to this day, still circulating in the seedier parts of the internet. He recalls an aborted operation they had just a month ago, someone tipped them off that a certain, new, company was planning to pick up the pieces of Umbrella to rebuild something bigger. But that tip inevitably reached a dead end as the source turned faulty and unreliable to the point where they demanded a certain amount of cash for their, ‘knowledge.’ Chris takes a sip again, eager this time as he wishes that, that arms deal doesn’t involve salvaging old Umbrella equipment and hacking the government’s archive for more notes on unfinished virus strains. But since when have they been that lucky?

And as if on cue, his phone buzzes, an incoming text from his team’s group message:

 _> > Nadia (B.S.A.A.), 6:10pm_  
_Could it be that Team Redfield-Kennedy’s first mission is to take down a copy-cat company?_

A smile quirks on Chris’ lips even before he can help himself, trying to ignore the two male emojis that were surrounded by several heart-eye cat emojis.

 _> > Chris, 6:12pm_  
_Don’t bet on it._  
He sends, putting a smiling emoji at the last second.

After several minutes without any reply, he sets down his phone and focuses on the TV, the news from before was now replaced with a calm-sounding man talking about mythologies surrounding forests and wildlife, apparently there are people who say they have seen a mountain god roam around the woods giving food to starving animals. With the existence of zombies, giants, and science-spawned demigods he might not completely rule out (Hopefully) benevolent, primordial gods of lands and seas. He just prays they don’t think about grandeur plans about the planet in the future; because all the ammo in the world probably won’t do the trick.  
Chris was about to stand to raid his fridge for food when his phone buzzed again.  
Looking down, he freezes, he forgot he added Leon in that group message just days ago,

 _> > Leon Kennedy, 6:30pm_  
_?_

He blanks, unsure of what to say. The rational part of him says it’s nothing to fret about, maybe the man just wants to get updated with the topic. But a looming voice like storm clouds inside his head is convincing him that this was Leon shrugging off their attempts at talking about the joint organization, maybe because of the incident earlier, the man decided not to work with him anymore.

 

***

An hour and a half passes by, no more replies from his teammates as every minute felt like an agonizing lifetime of overthinking and scenario planning. And already he misses the calmness of the restaurant earlier, the way the entire structure looked like a big boat, the sentimental artifacts on the walls, the breeze that passed through the trees that carried the smell of salt and ozone. If he closed his eyes and imagined the sea licking the bottom of the structure as it sat resting on an edge of a cliff, it was as if it actually happened.

The TV was switched to a random show, he thought it was about national animals, that was actually about the history of Nebraska that turned out to be actually about wild raspberry picking. It was confusing. So Chris decided not to pay attention to it anymore as he let himself cast his mind back towards everything that happened today. Carefully, he runs a hand through his hair, he knows there was something between them, brewing, just beneath the linings of their skin. But it never demanded his attention like it did today, it was as if it grew exhausted of his stalling and decided to take matters in its own, capable, hands. Chris smiles to himself, smitten, as he wipes his palm on the rough texture of his jeans.

He lies backward on the couch, as the night felt cold, too cold for any summer night he has ever experienced.  
Something in the air, in the show that filled the silence, or the flat-tasting beer that felt wrong. Out of place. Not enough.

An inkling why, a type of longing; the night is stale, he is not with him.

It wasn’t the type of longing that he needed to broadcast; it was, in better words, a continuous sting. His throat felt thick, as if he took a dry pill just a few seconds ago. His arms felt heavy and a type of quiet exhilaration flowed through his body. It was amazing how the wars of the head and heart could affect the human psyche this much to the point where he could physically feel the feeling of missing someone. He hangs his head and lets it loll to the side. He has it bad now. This morning, he was nothing more than just a man who had no idea his personal life would take a leap of faith like this. But there was something he was certain of, he knew, before this that his type wasn’t strictly for women only, he found men attractive too. He has never crossed that territory though; he was fine with admiring from afar, until today. After a dream that forced him to shine light on something that he has been keenly denying himself of, finally quenching this unmeasured infatuation that shockingly was more than just a physical want. He likes Leon. He likes him a lot.

How can he not, when the man single-handedly navigated through Spain, clueless, in order to save someone, his compelling focus was one to be admired. He always wore a taunting smirk that was appropriately partnered with a sarcastic tongue and an aloof persona. He reminds him of the word confident. Sanguine.

He laughs at himself self-deprecatingly.

Now the man was probably annoyed at him for earlier.  
But then—had Leon practically spell out that he wanted it to happen too?  
That thought makes Chris feel somewhat dizzy, maybe, if they hadn’t drifted away at the last second and recollected themselves, would this night be different? What if that tiny window was it? And now the opportunity was gone forever. Two star-crossed lovers missing their moment.

And now all they can do was revolve around each other, not touching.

Or maybe not—

  
Three sharp knocks on his door.  
Crisp and undeniably real.  
Suddenly, it was like he was out of his body, he opens the door slowly, paranoid that his hearing was just playing tricks on him. Fortunate for him, it wasn’t. Because on the other side of the door, leaning casually on the opposite wall was Leon, “Hey,” the agent says to him, flat.  
“Are you just about to sleep?” The man asks. “No, not yet.” I don’t think I can sleep without even a tiny bit of clarity, Chris wants to say, but wisely doesn’t. “Good.” He pushed himself off the wall, holding out an expensive looking bottle of wine, “A peace offering.” Leon says, face impassive. Chris takes it and turns it over in his hand, the date on it was so old that Chris dreaded asking Leon how much it was actually worth, “Thank you, Leon.” He replied, a smile on his lips.

A thought intrudes in the back of his mind, “You want to stay for a bit? Help me at least make a dent on this thing?” He held up the bottle, shaking it slightly in front of Leon’s still unreadable expression, “Chris.” The man says briskly, cutting in, “Why are you doing this?” Chris’ eyebrows knot and he looks from Leon to the bottle, “I’m sorry for earlier, Chris. It was reckless and stupid. But, I don’t think calling off the project will do anything to fix that aside from being a big inconvenience to everyone involved.” A puff of air escapes Chris, confused and slightly hurt, “Who said I was cancelling?” he raised an eyebrow, “Your text. It was nothing short of an indirect dismissal.” The man’s stare was unwavering, making Chris feel like he has laid everything out for Leon to scrutinize.

Chris lets out a defeated sigh, arguing with Leon was one of the last things he’d rather be doing tonight, If Leon fully wants to ignore what happened, that’ll be tough but he’ll manage. If Leon, in some mortifying way, wants their friendship to return back to a professional one, he’s not about to stand-by and watch as Leon pushes him away because of a misunderstanding, “It wasn’t like that, I didn’t meant anything by it. I was just—joking that if we were to take our first official mission, It shouldn’t be something that has that much intensity.”

Leon neared, leveling a finger towards him, “Why, do you think we can’t do it? Chris—we’ve been in this shit for too long for you to-“  
“No, it’s not like that, it’s just-“Chris raised a palm, hoping it’d at least make the man listen to him.  
“Just what?” There was a strain to Leon’s voice that Chris cannot pinpoint exactly the cause.  
“Because! I can’t lose more people already! We’re recruiting rookies, people who aren’t familiar in the field. We have to take them under our wing, what happens if we set them loose in a lab where, odds are, they’ll be as much as frightened of their shadows as anything.” The taller man threw his hands up in tremendous frustration, they were arguing in a hallway where his neighbors probably heard half the exchange they just had.

The fight from Leon’s posture eased and he looked away shamefully, jaw clenched.  
“You’re right—sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He murmured, “Look, it’s fine, it’s been quite a day and I’m sorry too, but It’s safe to say that I am not pulling out the project.” Chris ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out in ridiculous places. He sent an apologetic smile towards Leon, as the man smiled back at him and rolled his eyes, “Does the offer still stand?” Leon nodded toward the wine bottle. “That depends, are you going to listen to me for once?”

“Eh, depends if I don’t like what you have to say.” Leon teased, pushing Chris out of his way and into the man’s apartment.  
“Fair enough.” Chris chuckled.

Chris makes a grand gesture of his apartment to Leon, taking in the sight of the now warm beer that sat lonely on the coffee table and a stack of magazines and papers stacked haphazardly next to it, “Reminds me of your desk at the station all those years ago,” Leon says, amused and—kind of awed. It catches Chris off guard because he doesn’t remember it himself, and the thought that Leon did brings back a fresh, still unexplored feeling he’s still in the process of examining, “Really? God, if I only had a way to communicate with you, I would’ve told you to bring back a Queen C.D. I had there, it was a first edition.” He joked instead, ripping a page out of Leon’s book, the art of deflecting. Leon looks at him and nods before looking down at the bottle that Chris was still holding onto, “I’ll take care of that, the guy that sold me this said it should be chilled to a specific temperature.” He sweeps the bottle from Chris before making his way toward the kitchen, drawers were being rooted from where they were, as a chorus of kitchen utensils and ice clinking filled in the silence, “The guy at the pub said,” Leon grunts before a pop of a cork resounded in the kitchen, “That this should be chilled immediately after opening.”

“A guy at the pub?” Chris asks, now sitting down on the spot he was lounging at before Leon came over, “Yeah, why, you jealous?” and even when Chris cannot quite see him, just from the tone of his voice, the brunette knows that there was a smirk contouring his face, “Bought this from a barkeep, I asked him which is their richest wine and he went out the back and gave me this.” Leon hands him a glass, “He said something about it being the, ‘ _Corazon de la mar.’_ of his country, which I’m sure probably meant a lot considering he told me his family would only break it out when they celebrate occasions,” he finished, pouring in each of their glasses and wiping off the tip of the bottle with a towel hanging from his arm. Chris knows close to nothing about wines and cheeses and that caviar stuff that people put on crackers—or something, but he knows top quality when he sees it. He sniffs it, testing. It smells light, but not fruity, a hint of earth. It smells how hard-work should smell. He takes a sip and he immediately knows what the man was saying, each drop was so much warmth that he swishes around in his mouth and swallows, smooth as velvet.

“Wow.” He says, short on words.

“This, by the beach, what I would give to make that happen.” Leon snorts, swirling his glass, a visceral image pops into his mind unwarranted, them on the beach or at the restaurant from this morning, sipping this exquisite wine and just talking. Like they don’t share hardships, fears and burdens with each other that no normal civilian should ever experience. Like, in those moments they could last up to eons, other than say, a single needle from a virus that they spent half their life battling.

He takes a big mouthful, letting the warmth ignite his heart, allowing him to stall for a few seconds, organizing his thoughts before he swallows, “Next week,” he trailed, “I’m free for almost an entire week other than a few papers I need to e-mail.” Leon’s head snaps to his, the magazine he was fiddling with forgotten in his hands, “What.” He asks, incredulous, “Are you serious?”  
“Yeah, next week, you pick the destination and I’m game.” He circles a finger on the rim of his glass, “You have no idea how much I want this to happen, Redfield. Don’t you joke around with me.” Chris chuckled, scooting just a fraction closer to Leon, “I am not joking at all, I think it’s nice to get away for a bit, seeing the world without having to travel via company chopper.” He keeps the bitterness from his voice at bay; this was about them for once, not about their never-ending duties. Leon sags on the couch and lolls his head to the side, Chris above him, smiling, as the agent’s head was an inch or two near his shoulder.

“Wow. Okay. That’s a deal then,” he breathed, smiling up at Chris who looked at him with so much controlled emotion.

There wasn’t a trace of staleness anymore; the night was full and lasting. A type of reverie and understanding you can only experience in life’s most character shaping moments. A turning point.

In a single kiss, they will share more words than any thoughts, opinions, arguments and doubts can. Chris lowers his head slowly, giving Leon time to pull away, jump from the couch, punch or slap him, “Chris.” Leon breathed, looking straight in his eyes, “You aren’t making me do anything,” Chris tilts Leon’s chin, “You’ve been aware of this before me, but—I can guarantee you that I want this too.” He kisses the corners of Leon’s lips first, slow and deliberate, a crescendo, an incoming wave.  
Before lowering deeper and finally—finally capturing those lips with his own. Everything about it felt decidedly human, the world stopped thinking it owed them any favors for saving it numerous times, they felt flawed and vulnerable, a knowledge which makes them kiss even deeper, A palm to Chris’ chest where his heart was beating at an above speed, Leon turns to face him fully, allowing himself to get pushed down on the couch with Chris above him as the man slid himself between his legs, peppering kisses on his neck and jaw.  
Apologizing that it took him this long, depraving them both from this for years. but Leon lets out a breathless, deep, laugh that made Chris instinctively ground against him. Leon gasps before hiding his face on the crook of Chris’ neck, “It’s fine, we’ve got—we’ve got the night, tomorrow, next week, just—“ He says, cutting himself off before settling with sighing Chris’ name instead.

“What do you want?” Chris asks, face buried on the crown of Leon’s head.

Unbidden, uncontrolled, Leon says every fantasy, everything that he buried between a dusky soul and a dark night. And again, a visceral image, Leon writhing alone, hair sticking to his forehead, both of his hands working himself, thrusting fingers, and a quickened rhythm, Chris’ name to his lips like it is now.

A loud and deep growl escapes Chris. He pulls away, eyes full of promises for more. Leon looks at him and smiles, content, before guiding him back again on his lips, like boats near a lighthouse.

***

Their night ends when morning began. A cool, enchanting, breeze.  
And he dreams again, him and Leon, in a house that was near by the sea. _Not talking._

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's been quite a while since I posted something. 2018 is not my year. :(  
> First off, all my WIP's got deleted because my phone broke.  
> And then, in the middle of March, my dad got rushed to a hospital because of brain aneurysm.  
> After one and a half month of confinement, he sadly passed away on May 16. 
> 
> I started writing this days after his burial-- and I wanna say that this, along with poetry and music helped organize my thoughts. Especially when Grief is probably the most complex thing I have ever experienced. 
> 
> With that, I leave you all with this. I hope you like it! 
> 
> (I'm open to questions about the fic or about personal stuff, if you guys want.)  
> <3


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